Craig Johnson is the guest of honor at Crime Bake this year. Reading his books and watching Longmire has made me reminisce about the six years I lived in Cheyenne. I might not have lived on a ranch but I’ve been to more than one. I might not have roped a cow but I’ve been to the rodeo. I know about jackalope, buckle bunnies, and chinook winds. I’ve been to Chugwater and heard their band.
Through a series of life events I ended up living in Cheyenne. Elevation: 6062 feet (higher than the Mile High City – Denver) Population: 50,000 or thereabouts when I lived there. To an Iowa girl it was a lot of shades of brown, antelope, tumbleweeds and yes cowboys. I learned to two-step at the Cheyenne Club. I threw myself into the Frontier Days activities the last full week of July every year. You might be a city slicker but you can’t help but find a little bit of cowboy in you when you live in Wyoming.
Wyoming isn’t for the weak of heart. The wind blows hard across the state and grit often ends up in your mouth. I learned to hang on to the car door when I opened it because the wind might have ideas about what it wants to do with it. My mom called me one morning when the windchill was 70 below — she lived in Florida. “Do you have to go to work?” she asked. The answer was yes. I worked for a financial planning company and the market was open. Life in Wyoming goes on windchill or not.
I missed trees and made friends. I worked my way up the corporate ladder. I wore suits not boots. I traveled around the state Rock Springs, Pinedale, Jackson Hole, Sheridan, Buffalo, Casper. All so different so beautiful in their own way. I met and married my husband in Cheyenne.
It snowed mid May one year, it snowed mid September. I don’t remember a Halloween while I lived there that it didn’t snow. Trick or Treat at the mall was a big deal because kids could take their snowsuits off and show off their costumes.
One snow storm was particularly bad. My husband and I had been visiting his parent’s in Idaho. The storm chased us all the way across the state, big flakes flew by as we kept the dark, rolling clouds in the rearview mirror. Gates closed behind us on Interstate 80 as they shut it down. We made it home, barely, before the storm hit. The next three days Bob drove his old International Harvester four-wheel drive around town picking up my coworkers as the town dug out.
I’ve been through whiteouts, a tornado, a 100 year flood in Wyoming. And hail. Cheyenne is the start of a section of the country known as “Hail Alley”. But the sun shines almost every day. It warmed my car so much in the winter I’d have to take my winter coat off before I got in or I’d fry. The skies are large, vast.
I was very active in the community: served on boards, ran marketing campaigns for various causes, I even taught an adult learning class at the community college. You might be thinking this hardly makes me a cowboy. But a few days before we left Cheyenne to move to Los Angeles I received this certificate from then Governor Mike Sullivan saying I’m a bona fide Cowboy.
Readers: Do you have a little bit of cowboy in you?
Love this post, Sherry. A certificate! I don’t know if I have cowboy in me, but I do know, as native westerner, that I love wide open spaces, real moutains, and shade of brown in the desert. When I fly west and cross the Rockies, it’s as if I can finally breathe again.
When I worked in Wyoming we had a client who moved to upstate New York. He came back for a visit and I asked him how he liked it. He said, “You can’t see anything there are too many trees.” I was so surprised!
Apart from being able to sing the theme song from every Warner Brothers western ever made, I’m a Yankee through and through. But my great-grandmother owned a dude ranch somewhere out west (probably Wyoming or Colorado), and I’d love to know where it was.
We have to find out, Sheila! That is so cool!
Well, I’ve roped in my husband, herded my children around, rustled up meals and called my car Old Paint. I really don’t know anything about wide-open spaces unless you count the song by The Dixie Chicks! Sherry, I loved your post and you have convinced me to visit Wyoming… in July!
Very funny, Kim! Cheyenne is a lot of fun in July!
Sherry, your blog today makes me want to sit with you and your photo album and hear more about your life in Cheyenne! Thanks for sharing.
I don’t think I have any cowboy in me, but I definitely don’t have Wyoming in me. Just reading about your time there gave me a bad chill.
Not the lovely mild climate of Southern California, Mark!
Reblogged this on F4l ~ FLECK and commented:
Author Sherry Harris is a bona fide Cowboy. =)
I truly cannot believe how many things I learned about you during this short little blog! Who are you????
I’d tell you but…
Sherry, I grew up in Laramie (at 7165 elevation), spent the my first 18 years there. You nailed so much about Wyoming. Especially the wind!! We lived across from an empty field of red dirt and it was only when I went skiing that I saw white snow because the snow in our yard was always red. You post was a mini trip down memory lane. A lovely trip, indeed.
I have been to Laramie many times! UW football games where the temperature started at 40 and ended up at 70! It’s a good thing we knew to layer! I’d forgotten how red the soil was there.
What a neat post with fantastic pictures (and a cool certificate)! I’ve never visited this part of the country. I’m intrigued!
It was a very interesting place to live.
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